Amuletic
by DragonDancer5150
Summary: In the Two Lands, simply stating a thing had the power to make it true, and paintings were as real as their physical counterparts. With this magical principle, young Atem attempts to protect himself from the one he fears the most. COMPLETE
1. Graven Images

Author's Notes – Special thanks to "Lucidscreamer" for her patience and willingness to answer my questions on Ancient Egyptian practices and such. Lucid – you know I'll always listen to you ramble! ::hearts!!!:: And thanks also to MyAibou for beta'ing, and Lunnaei for being my support and first ear. You guys are the best! XD

Disclaimer –"Yu-Gi-Oh!" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Takahashi Kazuki and any other related owners/distributors/producers. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"Amuletic"  
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 1 – Graven Images

The child darted in and out of the shadows along the portico framing the courtyard, fine leather sandals making only a whisper of sound over hard-packed earth. He paused once, ducking back behind a column as a group of servants stepped out from an entryway. He held his breath as they passed, laughing and chatting on their way to the kitchen, then hurried through the same doorway to skirt the edge of another, smaller courtyard. A pair of patrolling guards forced him to dodge behind another column – Argh, where was a pot when he needed one? – before he could enter the building, crossing the private audience chamber to finally slip into the hallway of the royal residences, stealing into his father's room when another guard turned to respond to a question from a servant rounding another corner down the hall. The boy threw himself on the bed, finally releasing the tears he had been holding in since leaving the scribal school at the House of Life on the other side of the royal complex.

He hated that man sometimes. _Hated_ him! He . . . he knew he shouldn't, knew the gods demanded that one maintain a just heart, but he couldn't help it! Never mind that his tutor was First God's Servant of Sutekh, a well-learned teacher, _and_ one of the Sacred Chosen who bore a Treasure of the Thousand Years of Stability. And his father's brother on top of all that. The man could be such a monster! He was a crocodile that just loved to find every little flaw and gnash at it with wickedly sharp teeth.

It wouldn't be quite so bad if Akh-n-aden was equally as picky and harsh on all of his students. . . but he wasn't. Far from! It was only his six-year-old nephew, Atem, on whom the priest was so hard. The child's back still smarted from the lashes of that hateful palm rib for giving a wrong answer. _He_ wasn't the one who had been wrong! It was his tutor who refused to explain the lesson enough that Atem _could_ get the right answer. It wasn't fair! Atem felt certain sometimes that his uncle – no, he couldn't even bring himself to think of the awful man as such! – that Akh-n-aden _wanted_ him to fail, that the man kept trying to beat him down out of some kind of spite.

People said that it was because Atem was the eldest – indeed only – son of the Great Royal Wife, which made him "First Son of the King, of his body" and thus most likely choice for the throne of the Two Lands after his father, Pharaoh Akh-khnum-ka-nen. The priest was merely doing his duty, making sure Atem above anyone else would be ready for such immense responsibility when his time came, but the child, with a mind sharp beyond his young age, could see in Akh-n-aden's eye that it went deeper than that. Much deeper.

He wished his father were here. Even as pharaoh, Akh-khnum-ka-nen always made time for his son when Atem really needed it. Unfortunately, pressing business had carried the pharaoh away to some far-off country weeks ago, and it would be another few weeks before he returned, assuming all went well.

Head settled into the padded cradle of his father's headrest, arms wrapped around its stem, Atem wondered how long it would be before someone came looking for him. He had slipped away from his tutor when the man was momentarily distracted with some of the other priests, claiming a trip to the toilet with an upset stomach. His stomach had indeed been upset, though it had nothing to do with his bowels.

It was only a moment before the sound of footsteps stopping just outside sent the child rolling off the opposite edge of the bed with a sharp, muffled gasp of alarm, slithering underneath as the hall guard opened the door to check the room. The child knew that the guard would not bother looking under the bed. The frame stood too low to the ground for a normal intruder – presumably an adult – to fit without lifting the frame a little, but slim, agile Atem fit quite comfortably. Still, he held his breath and offered silent prayers to Aset to protect him, as she had protected her son Heru-sa-Aset from Sutekh, when the guard crossed to the bed. He listened as the guard grumbled to himself about the carelessness of the servants and belatedly realized that he must have knocked over his father's headrest in his haste to get out of sight. The guard paused an instant at the bedside, presumably righting the headrest, then left the room.

Only when the door latched closed once more did Atem release the breath he had been holding, the soft puff of air disturbing a fine layer of dust that swirled away from him across the mosaic tile floor. He crawled back out from under the bed, brushed himself off, retightened the tie of his kilt, and combed his fingers back through his hair. He was proud of his wild mane, thick and long, unlike all other children his age that bore the customary sidelock of youth. When he was born, he already had such a full head of dark red hair – rare but not unheard of – that his father forbade the royal hairdresser from shaving it. Within a year, it had darkened to its current near-black but, in the sunlight, it still betrayed a sheen of brilliant red highlights. He had his mother's hair, and his father loved it.

With a huff, Atem plopped down on the bed and fell back to stare mournfully at the decorated ceiling, ignoring the sharply-burning lines across his bare back and the soft protest of the tight, reed latticework under the folded-linen mattress.

"Now what do I do?" he asked the painted ibises circling overhead, mindful to keep his voice soft so anyone in the hall outside couldn't hear him. He dreaded the even worse beating he knew he would get if-… _No, be honest_, he admonished himself with an audible sigh. _When_ he was caught. "I know, I _know!_" he moaned at the birds, all but hearing their cries of rebuke. "I shouldn't have run away from Akh-n-aden. Hmph, _you_ deal with him for a few hours, and then you can scold me, all right?"

He studied them for a moment and sighed wistfully. Sometimes, he wished he was a bird. He could fly and go anywhere in the Two Lands that he pleased, and he wouldn't have to do scribal work or listen to the nurses reprimand him for getting dirty when he played. Most of all, he wouldn't have to deal with Akh-n-aden anymore.

He repressed a shudder as the thought brought the image of the man, unbidden, to his mind, and ruthlessly he cast it aside before it could take hold of him. It was the one thing he could never let himself dwell on, for it would reveal a weakness in him he could not afford to have known.

Akh-n-aden, quite frankly, frightened him.

He gritted his teeth in disgust at himself even as he sat up and hugged his arms about him, subconsciously aching for his mother's reassuring embrace, but he couldn't completely banish the phantom of his tutor from his mind. The man didn't even have to be angry at Atem to look menacing. As if his lined and weathered face weren't enough, the beard and mustache just beginning to streak unevenly with age, his mismatched eyes unnerved most anyone who looked at them. The right was a dark slate-grey, as cold and hard as the stone whose color it shared. And the left… the left…

From what he had been told, the man had lost it five years before, when Atem was but an infant. That was when all of the Treasures of the Thousand Years of Stability had been forged, gifts of the gods to help his father and the forces of the Two Lands to turn back the tide of foreign hordes invading their sacred home. Of the seven Bearers of the Items, Akh-n-aden was the most grotesque as only he bore his as no other did – physically imbedded into his body, in his skull.

He was the Bearer of the Eye.

Atem scrubbed his hands over his face, trying without success to drive that cold Eye from his imagination. He let his hands drop into his lap with a sigh and looked up to study the images on the walls instead. He had always loved his father's room, with its frescoes of cool marshlands, gathered gods, and protective glyphs. He had similar paintings decorating his own room, but his father's were far nicer. Of course they were – they had to be! They oversaw the comfort and protection of the Lord of the Two Lands in his time of vulnerability, while he slept.

Atem stood and crossed to an image of Heru, the god whose _ka_ his father shared, and set his hand reverently over the deity's breast. "Great One, lord of the sun and of light, patron of the king, beloved of your people," he whispered, "please, tell me what to do. Help me know how to handle my tutor who demands so much of your son. He is strict when others are around, abusive when their backs are turned, and his eye is cruel. Please . . . please help me."

He had no doubt that the god heard him, whether or not he chose to reply. In every painting, every graven image, was the life of the one it represented. He knew it from palace and temple walls, from the countless statues and stelae, and from the paintings in his father's tomb that he had visited once alongside his maternal grandfather, Si-Amun, when the priest went to inspect the ongoing work. Upon his death, Akh-khnum-ka-nen would journey to the Underworld where he would dwell with the gods forever, and should his body ever be damaged or his mortuary cult fail, the images and inscriptions could replace them in sustaining his immortal existence. Just as the mere speaking of a statement had the power to cause it to be, so did an image share reality with its physical counterpart.

One small finger traced the curve of the collar that Heru wore, with its tiny amulets worked into the pattern. All of the gods wore or carried various accoutrements of protection and power, just as their people did. Atem looked down his bare chest to his own protections, one a hoop of thick, gold wire with two carnelian snake's heads on either side of a lapis lazuli Bes-head pendent, and the other –

He gasped in alarm. His Eye of Horus, the one he wore on a thong around his waist - missing! The knot must have come loose again, and this time he didn't notice in his flight from his teacher. He stomped a foot, fists clenched at his sides in silent anger at himself. How could he have let himself _lose_ his udjat, his most powerful protective amulet?!

He stopped at a thought, his eyes going once more to Heru and his collar. If drawings on the walls of a room could protect someone, wouldn't drawings on one's own body be even more powerful? A person can leave a room, or lose his pendent, but amuletic drawings on one's own skin could never be left behind, lost, or stolen!

Atem raised his hands and bowed to the image of Heru with a quick, murmured prayer of thanks, sure that the god had just given him a sign, and hurried to put his new plan into action. Wouldn't his father and the priests be impressed with his ingenuity! And if he drew enough powerful glyphs on his body, even Akh-n-aden surely would never be able to touch him again!

He had no lack of amulets to copy. His father's jewelry chest held more necklaces, earrings, finger rings, bracelets, and pectorals than ten men could ever hope to wear. Atem pulled out his favorites. Now all he needed was something to draw with. He scanned the room, and his eyes fell on his father's cosmetic case over on a table. Of course! He could use his father's kohl! Carrying the chosen jewelry over with him, he climbed up on the stool, opened the case, and picked through the jars of body oils and salves to locate a blue faience tube the length of his small hand with its polished wood applicator stick. He laid out the various amulets on the table before him and got to work.

Before long, he had his udjat drawn out and had added the inverted-triangle shape of his father's most potent amulet around it. If an udjat was a powerful symbol of protection, then how much more so was the one on the face of the unique plumb bob puzzle amulet, the Weight of the Thousand Years of Stability? Above that, he added a winged scarab holding a solar disk that reached up to his collarbones. More images covered the sides of his belly and chest as well as his shoulders and down his arms. Using a hand mirror, he drew a vulture on one cheek, a rearing winged cobra on the other, and a winged solar disk across his forehead. Then, he turned to sit on the table and start work on his legs.

* * *

Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!

* * *


	2. BlackHanded

Disclaimer –"Yu-Gi-Oh!" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Takahashi Kazuki and any other related owners/distributors/producers. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"Amuletic"  
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 2 – Black-Handed

So intent was he on his work that he failed to hear his grandfather's approach down the hall. Sudden voices just outside the door startled him, and he could not move fast enough to hide himself, let alone get anything put away, before the door opened to reveal Si-Amun with the hall guard behind him.

His grandfather stopped to gape at him, then demanded, "Akh-khnum-sa-atem, what in the name of Maat are you doing?!"

Behind him, the guard stared in a mixture of anger and confusion. "How did you get in here, child?"

Atem flinched back at the use of his complete birth name, ducking a bit before he could recover himself. Eyes down, he answered the guard first, knowing the dialogue with his grandfather would be longer.

"I slipped in when you were talking to Kheruef. I hid under the bed when you came in to check the room. I-I'm sorry, Baenre." He looked up then, meeting the man's eye, guessing at least one concern that was on his mind. "I'll make sure nothing comes of this for you, Baenre. I promise. If someone bad had tried to slip past you wanting to hurt my father, I'm sure you would have caught them."

Far from an empty consolation, he had every faith in the man trusted to protect the pharaoh's private room. It was just that Atem was small, quick, silent . . . and knew the guard's most minor habits.

Baenre looked at him. "King's son, I would have let you in had you but asked. You know that." He frowned. "Except . . . aren't you supposed to be in study at the House of Life right now?"

Atem nodded, eyes dropping to his lap again for a moment. "Yes, sir…" He pulled a breath and squared his shoulders as he raised his eyes again, this time to face his grandfather, jaw setting in angry determination as he remembered what he had been engaged in doing before the two came in. "You asked what I'm doing. I am protecting myself. I'm sick of Akh-n-aden beating me for every minor fault and for things that are _not_ even my fault!"

The answer seemed to surprise Si-Amun, who tilted his head at that, his own ire visibly dwindling a bit. "By drawing on yourself?"

Atem's lips tightened. "If amulets we carry have the power to protect us, wouldn't amulets we _wear_ be even better? I can't lose these, and they can't be taken off me."

His grandfather crossed his arms, one bushy eyebrow rising. "They can be _washed_ off."

Atem faltered – he hadn't thought of that. He huffed. "Then, I'll just have to redraw them."

His grandfather shook his head. "Young man, it is not proper behavior to draw on yourself like this!"

"Why not?" Atem demanded.

It was Si-Amun's turn to falter, and Atem couldn't help but notice the suppressed look of amusement on Baenre's face as he too awaited an answer. Finally, his grandfather puffed out a breath. "Honestly, Atem, I don't know the exact reason off the top of my head . . . but don't you think that if it were acceptable, wise priests and scholars would have implemented such a practice long before a six-year-old _child?_"

Atem's face fell, and his gaze dropped into his lap again, shoulders slumping. "Yes, sir," he murmured, knowing he was genuinely in trouble now.

Si-Amun was silent for a heartbeat or two before finally asking, "Will you at least tell me what happened?"

Atem sighed and recounted the morning: how Akh-n-aden had been going through a lesson that didn't make a lot of sense to Atem, how Akh-n-aden had started asking comprehension-type questions without being willing to answer any of Atem's first, saying he should be smart enough to understand such simple logic, finally lashing him with the palm rib for his failure . . . how Atem had been so upset that he begged off with an upset stomach the first chance he got and made his way in secret to a place he felt safe without really thinking about where he was going, how he had prayed to Heru who, he thought, had given him the answer.

Si-Amun regarded him for a long moment as though considering what to do as he absently fingered the large amulet at his chest. He was one of the Chosen Ones too, the Bearer of the Key of the Thousand Years of Stability. For a moment, Atem almost feared the priest would use it on him, judging for himself the truth of Atem's words. But no . . . no, he wouldn't; Atem knew this. If there was no one else who would believe him on any given subject, he knew that his grandfather – and Baenre – were two of the few who would.

At length, his grandfather let out the breath he'd been holding. "Baenre, go back out into the hallway."

Baenre nodded, glancing between the two, and left the room.

Atem stiffened, feeling a little of the color drain from his face, as the door closed behind Baenre. He swallowed, chin tucking, then forced his voice steady as he asked, "A-are you going to . . . punish me, Grandfather?"

"Well, young man, I haven't decided _what_ I'm going to do with you, but I do believe _something_ should be done. For starters, you can clean up the mess you've made."

Atem hunched, voice low. "Yes, sir." He slipped off the table, put away the kohl jar, and was just gathering up the jewelry when he dropped them again suddenly as he flinched forward onto his hands, a sharp hiss of pain escaping him at the soft brush of a finger along one angry welt across the backs of his shoulders.

Si-Amun snatched his hand back, murmuring in apology. He sighed. "Got you pretty good this time, didn't he?"

Atem wasn't quite sure how to read the tone of his grandfather's voice, but he knew his own was unmistakable as he growled. "Yes . . . he did."

"He didn't break skin." Si-Amun's voice was quiet. "This'll not mark you."

"He never does." At least Akh-n-aden was careful in that respect, or so it seemed . . . though Atem doubted it had anything do with concern for _him_.

His grandfather didn't say anything more for long enough that Atem finally dared to move again, turning to look at the man. They gazed at one another for a long moment, and Atem felt tears begin to gather in his eyes. He swiped at them angrily with the backs of his hands, then growled again, choking back a sob of frustration, when doing so only served to smear kohl in his eyes, stinging them almost as much as the lashes on his back. "He hates me!" With his own tears, he was able to massage enough kohl back out of his eyes with his fingers to see again, looking at Si-Amun. "He hates me, Grandfather! You know he does, and you know why! And you _won't TELL me_!" The injustice of it all was finally too much for him, and he could no longer hold back the sobs.

Si-Amun gently gathered Atem into an embrace, one hand at the base of his skull and the other across his hips to avoid the rib welts. Atem resisted for an instant, pushing back on the man's chest, but then he gave in, collapsing into his grandfather's shoulder and letting go of his tears, muffling the sound of his sobs in the man's sash.

When he finally quieted, Si-Amun told him softly, "I cannot tell you what your uncle's problem is. You know that I cannot. We have had this conversation before, Atem." Despite the admonishment, his tone was gentle, and he heaved a heavy sigh. "Perhaps one day you will understand."

Atem snickered softly in spite of himself. " 'This conversation' always ends with that statement, too."

He could feel his grandfather's grin and nod against the top of his head, the man's face buried for a moment in the child's hair. "It's a sincere statement, grandson."

Atem gave a heavy sigh of his own. "I know…"

They stood like that a moment longer before Si-Amun gently pushed him back. "Come now. Let's get these put away, and then you cleaned up."

Atem nodded and, together, they returned all of the amulets back to their right places in the pharaoh's jewelry box. Then, Si-Amun pulled off his sash, unfolded and shook it out, and wrapped Atem in it so that it covered his torso and arms, the ends draping down over the fronts of his thighs, hiding the welts and most of the kohl drawings – there was nothing to be done about Atem's face.

"We'll go to the Royal Physician," his grandfather told him as he picked up a fist-sized chest from the table. "We'll get you scrubbed and bathed there, and he can put a salve on your back."

Atem looked up at him at that. "Am . . . I going to get punished?" he asked again.

His grandfather regarded him for a moment, then rested a hand on his head. "No. I'll not punish you, anyway. Personally, I think you've already paid for today." Atem breathed a sigh of relief, but then, Si-Amun wagged a finger under his nose. "I will, however, be letting your mother know what's happened. It'll be up to her whether or not she does anything further."

Atem groaned. That would likely mean getting turned over her knee for a "talking to" with her sandal, if not for skipping out of his studies – she knew his troubles with her brother-in-law – then at least for getting into his father's room and drawing all over himself with his father's kohl. But, he thought with a sigh, it sounded like his grandfather would _not_ be telling Akh-n-aden, for whom he held no particular love either, and Atem would far sooner face punishment from his mother than his uncle, so if a spanking was all he got out of this, he had to figure it was a pretty good deal. He nodded. "Yes, Grandfather."

"Very good. Let's go." Si-Amun went to the door, cracking it open and whispering to Baenre, "Are we clear?"

Atem couldn't see Baenre around his grandfather but guessed the man must have nodded because the next instant he was being ushered out into the hall. He watched as his dwarfish grandfather looked up at the taller man. "If anyone asks, you have not seen Atem yet today. I got what I originally came in for – " Si-Amun held up the little box in his hand. " – and that is all."

Baenre allowed a small grin and nodded. "Yes, Priest Si-Amun."

"All right." Si-Amun put a hand on Atem's shoulder and steered him for the audience chamber at the fore of the hallway.

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Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	3. Nemesis

Disclaimer –"Yu-Gi-Oh!" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Takahashi Kazuki and any other related owners/distributors/producers. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"Amuletic"  
by DragonDancer5150

Chapter 3 – Nemesis

Atem wondered if they would manage to get all the way to the House of Offices where the Royal Physician resided without meeting anyone along the way. Honestly, he doubted it.

He was proven right before they had even crossed the audience chamber. Mahaad, one of the top royal magician-priests, walked into the room just then, his magician's box tucked under one arm. He paused at the sight of the pair, his sharp eyes instantly falling on Atem's marked face. A slender eyebrow rose with the half-concerned, half-amused expression that spread across his graceful countenance. "Dare I ask?"

Atem had stiffened on reflex at first at having been found out, but he relaxed almost instantly. Mahaad was one that he actually did not mind knowing what he had done, if _anyone_ else had to, being another of the few Atem truly trusted, whom Atem knew would be on his side. Mahaad was another of his teachers, the one tutoring him in mystical arts. Despite his young age, Mahaad was talented and powerful, and a prime candidate as the next Bearer of an Item of the Thousand Years of Stability when a position was opened by the inevitable retirement, disability, or death of one of the present Six – Akh-khnum-ka-nen's Weight being the only exception, as it would go to the next pharaoh.

Si-Amun, Atem knew, was aware of his close relationship with Mahaad and gave the magician a rather amused look of his own before asking Atem, "Are you telling him or shall I?"

The story was recounted one more time, and Mahaad frowned deeply at Atem's treatment under his uncle-tutor, but the magician was chuckling by the end, bidding Atem pull back the sash for a moment so he could examine the boy's handiwork. "Well, your artistic skills could definitely use improving, Atem, but you seem to be off to a good start."

Atem blushed under his smeared vulture and cobra drawings. "Thank you, Mahaad." Atem called him by name most times – Mahaad had said he could – calling him "Teacher" only when they were actively studying.

"So where are you headed now?"

"To the physician," Si-Amun responded. "I'll ask if I can give the boy a bath in his chambers."

"So that as few as possible know of this?" Mahaad asked. Si-Amun nodded, and the magician looked thoughtful. "You'll not likely make it without at least a few people noticing . . . and you should know that Akh-n-aden is looking for his errant pupil."

Atem suppressed a gulp at that.

Si-Amun nodded, glancing down at Atem, then looking to the magician. "Perhaps you can help, Mahaad?"

Mahaad considered it a moment, looking as though his line of thought had been the same to start with, and finally he nodded. "Yes, perhaps I can." Crouching, he set down his magician's box and opened it. He sifted through scrolls until he found the one he wanted, and he set it aside. Next, he pulled a pouch of natron and stretched out his arm to sprinkle it over Atem's and Si-Amun's heads, murmuring under his breath as he did so.

Atem suppressed a groan. Mahaad didn't even have to raise his hand above his shoulder to do that. Si-Amun took after the dwarf god, Bes, it seemed, and while the stunted height seemed to have missed his daughter, Nebt-tawya – the Great Royal Wife and Atem's mother – it seemed that Atem himself had not escaped. Even at the tender age of six, Atem knew he was far smaller than he should be. Were he to stand on his grandfather's shoulders, Atem knew that the two of them together would barely reach Mahaad's graceful height. Sometimes, Atem feared how much respect he would ever truly have if or when he became pharaoh after his tall, broad-shouldered father if he himself could not look forward to reaching even five feet in height, his grandfather being not four-and-a-half and well into his forties. He pushed the thoughts from his mind as Mahaad crouched at his magician's box again.

Mahaad pulled his wand and another small pouch from the box and picked up the scroll he'd set aside. Atem had always loved Mahaad's wand, a gently curved piece of flat, finely-carved cedar. Mahaad scattered sand from the pouch all about their feet, then walked around them, crouched and lightly scraping the wood along the plaster floor, drawing in a circle in the thin layer of sand. That accomplished, he straightened, unrolled his scroll until he found the spell he wanted, and began chanting, walking another slow circle as he spoke.

"I am the darkness. I am the darkness of night that steals men's vision and hides them from their enemies. I am the clouds that cloak the stars and shield the moon from sight. Lo! You are blind – a scarf of linen binds your eyes. Lo! You are deaf – soft wax fills your ears. You stumble and fall, and there are none to catch you. No one is there."

Seven times Mahaad repeated his magical declarations, walking slow and graceful rings around the targets of his spell as his wand bobbed gently through the air at the end of his outstretched arm.

Finally, he stopped and turned to face the two directly. "It is done. This is the most powerful invisibility I can offer without more preparation. It will hide you from most people – they'll neither see nor hear you. It would last you a few hours if you avoided all contact, but is broken when you attempt to address someone directly . . . the spellcaster notwithstanding," he added with a grin. "But then, you only need it to work until you see Horwedja."

"Thank you, Mahaad," Si-Amun said, then cocked his head. "You said it works against 'most' people…?"

Mahaad nodded. "Anyone with great enough magic, especially an Item bearer, will still be able to see through the spell."

Atem scowled at that. "So Akh-n-aden will still see us."

"If he happens upon you at all," Mahaad pointed out. "And in the meantime, very few others anywhere in the royal complex will even notice you, let alone be able to betray you to him should he ask around."

"Fair enough, Mahaad," Si-Amun put in. "Thank you very much for this service."

Atem offered a small bow. "Yes, Teacher, thank you." He switched to a title in the hopes of conveying, through respect, just _how_ thankful he was. He truly did not want to find out what Akh-n-aden would do to him if he caught them.

Mahaad gave Atem a small grin, then crouched down to meet him at eye level. "I am always at your service, King's son. You know this."

Tears filled Atem's eyes again at the sight of the sincerity and love in the magician's gaze. "I-I know . . . thank you!" He threw his short arms around Mahaad's shoulders, careful to keep his grandfather's sash between himself and the magician's clothes to keep from smearing kohl on him, and hugged tightly, enjoying the warm, protective, familial embrace Mahaad gave him in return.

Atem released the magician when his grandfather softly prompted, reluctant to let go but knowing they needed to get on their way, and let Mahaad go on his. With one last wave, Atem let Si-Amun take his hand and lead him from the building into the inner courtyard, tucking himself into his grandfather's side. They would have to make it into the outer courtyard, the one that bordered the palace complex at large, and across the wide expanse from the Royal Residences to the House of Offices, passing the Mansion of the God Khnum and the House of Life to get there. Atem held fast to the knowledge that Mahaad was a powerful spellcaster and that they would not be accosted so long as they did not bump into anyone nor address anyone until they reached Horwedja's office.

That faith held true. The two passed guards and servants, scribes and priests all crossing one way or another from building to building to carry out their appointed tasks for king and kingdom. Atem even hesitated in front of one servant who had paused in the shade of a portico, waving a hand in front of the man's face, jumping up and down, and stifling a giggle of amusement when his grandfather tugged on his arm with a soft admonishment to quit playing – the servant never so much as blinked. Atem continued along at Si-Amun's side, thinking how he would ask Mahaad to teach him this spell at their next lesson, dreaming up all kinds of minor mischief he could get into. Who needed a pot when one could just turn invisible?

"_There_ you are, you little rascal."

Despite the midday heat, Atem felt his blood go cold in horror at the growl of the gravelly voice behind him. _S-so close!_ he quailed – the House of Offices stood only a few dozen feet from them now. He curled in on himself for a moment, new tears gathering in his eyes, before he could force himself to straighten, squaring his shoulders to turn and face his hated tutor-uncle…

Only for the firm grip of Si-Amun's hands on his shoulders to keep him from being able to do so. _G-grandfather…?_

"Yes, Akh-n-aden, here he is," Si-Amun replied, his tone admonishing, "and had you been paying better attention to your pupil's health, he'd have been to the physician all the sooner."

"Excuse me?"

"The boy has a fever and is suffering from chills. I put my sash around him, but he needs a bath to try to break the fever, as well as Horwedja's medicines for his sickness."

Atem heard Akh-n-aden grunt behind him, that sound he made when he wasn't sure he believed something but knew better than to outright disagree for one reason or another. "The boy said his stomach was bothering him and that he was heading for the toilet. How is it _you_ found him before any of the scribes? Haven't you been at the Royal Residences all day?" Atem shuddered, hearing the challenge in his tutor's voice.

Si-Amun huffed, feigning annoyance. "Because he was not _at_ the House of Life when I came across him, Akh-n-aden. The boy is somewhat delusional as well as suffering from vertigo and disorientation. I actually found him out behind the kitchen of all places, though he thought he was in the Mansion of Khnum."

Akh-n-aden snorted, then addressed Atem. "Boy, turn around and face me."

Atem hunched his shoulders, rubbing at his cheeks with the sash in a vain attempt to clean the kohl from them before he obeyed.

The hands on his shoulders tightened, a silent command to _not_ turn around. "Don't be a fool," Si-Amun scolded. "You don't want to fall ill too, do you? As it is, I will have to submit to some treatment myself, I'd imagine, and I've kept the boy away from me as much as possible."

Atem could feel his uncle's mismatched gaze boring into his back, and he suppressed another shudder.

At length, Akh-n-aden relented. "Fine. Get him to the physician, and let me know what he says. I'll be with Shada in the Hall of Records at the Temple of the Ka Tablets until dinner."

"Until later, then."

Atem listened tensely as the soft pads of Akh-n-aden's footsteps grew distant across the hard-packed earth even as they too continued on their way into the foyer of the House of Offices, only relaxing when Si-Amun let go of his shoulders. Still, he didn't dare look over his shoulder. "I-is he gone, Grandfather?"

"Yes, he's gone."

Atem risked a peek behind him, then looked up at Si-Amun. "Y-you . . . you lied to him. For me, I know, but…"

"But lying is wrong." Si-Amun nodded, then pulled a breath, turning Atem to face him more fully. "Generally, yes, my boy, it is. It is wrong to lie to deceive and hurt another. It is wrong to lie to try to protect yourself when you _know_ you have done wrong – instead, you should just face your consequences. But . . . when another has been hurt, sometimes . . . it is acceptable to lie to protect that someone from being further wronged. At this point, you are fine. The lies are on me, and I will deal with that. In the meantime, let's just get you to Horwedja's."

Atem nodded but, before he continued walking, he threw his arms around Si-Amun. "Thank you, Grandfather. I love you…"

"I love you, too, my grandson." Si-Amun's embrace was strong and affectionate. "I love you too."

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Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


	4. Epilogue – Honor

Disclaimer –"Yu-Gi-Oh!" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Takahashi Kazuki and any other related owners/distributors/producers. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.

"Amuletic"  
by DragonDancer5150

Epilogue – Honor

"There's someone here to see you, Atem."

Atem turned at his mother's voice as the woman let herself into his bedroom, waving off Atem's attendant who had been helping him get ready for bed. Nude but for the oils that kept his skin soft after his bath of natron salts, his hair combed and tamed as much as it would ever allow, Atem turned his back on his mother, arms folding, tone petulant in his irritation with the day overall and wanting it to be over with. "Well, I don't want to see them."

He knew he should have expected it, but still he jumped with a startled yelp at the sharp slap of his mother's hand across his bare bottom. He spun back around to face her, both hands clapping over his bottom cheeks, chin tucking as he met her eye.

His mother shook a finger at him, tone and expression both stern. "Akh-khnum-sa-atem, you will _not_ take such a tone with me. Ever. You may be a son of the King, but you are _not_ a spoiled one!"

Atem lowered his eyes, duly chastised. "I'm sorry, Mother."

He felt his mother's eyes on him for a moment longer, studying him to determine if he were truly repentant, before speaking again, her voice softer. "Now . . . as I said, there's someone here to see you, and I think you _do_ want to see him."

Something in her tone made him look up, and he gasped at the sight of the man who stepped into the room. "F-father? _Father!!_" Without thinking, he bounced forward, leaping into his father's arms as the man knelt to receive him. "When did you get home? I thought you'd not be back for another month! Is everything okay? Father, I'm sorry for what I said just now. I'm so glad to see you! I really am!"

His father chuckled as he picked him up, standing again and hugging his son to him, one arm under Atem's bottom and the other at the back of his head. "I'm glad to see you too, son. Yes, everything's fine. The business in Men-nefer took less time than we had anticipated, so we came straight back."

It took Atem a moment, but then he registered where his father's hand was, the one behind his head – it was usually hugged across the backs of his shoulders. He stiffened a bit, realizing that his father already knew. He let go of his own hug and sat up straighter, pushing back from his father's chest.

Akh-khnum-ka-nen frowned. "No, son. Let me see." He stood Atem on the edge of his bed and bade him turn around. Flushing with shame, Atem obeyed, looking over his shoulder as his father surveyed the damage. Then, his father's gaze met his, the expression unreadable. "Akh-n-aden told me about what happened today."

Atem felt his heart stop in horror, his face going ashen, and he turned to face his father – and his back, and bottom, _away_ – almost fast enough to lose his balance on the bed frame. "F-father, I-I can explain – !!"

The pharaoh caught his arm with one hand to steady him and held up the other for silence. "I have also talked to your mother and grandfather. Son…" Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips, almost as if he weren't sure what to say . . . though that could not be. Atem's father, the Lord of the Two Lands, _always_ knew what to say and do.

He waited tensely, head bowed, for his father's pronouncement. His mother had not spanked him . . . likely because she had left him to his father to deal with. He suppressed a shudder, suddenly miserable with anticipation.

After a heartbeat, Akh-khnum-ka-nen released the breath he'd been holding . . . and stepped closer to embrace his son again, careful of the welts. Atem stiffened in surprise, then melted into the hug. "Son," his father said, "I know things are not easy for you, especially with your uncle. And I understand that you are frustrated with the fact that there are things no one will tell you – "

"I know, I know," Atem muttered. "Not until I'm older, right?"

Around his father's arm, Atem saw his mother give him a deeply disapproving frown – one did not interrupt the Living Horus – but Akh-khnum-ka-nen did not address the slight, only nodded. "There are many things you do not know – or know of – yet, my son, and many you will not have explained if you do discover them, not until the proper time. Until then, you must be patient. Hold your heart strong, Atem. No matter what others do to you, you must always remember to maintain your own honor, even if you do not understand what is happening around you. Never, my son, _never_ let go of your honor."

Atem sighed, knowing his father was right, and nodded against the man's chest. "Yes, Father. I promise. I just want you to be proud of me."

Akh-khnum-ka-nen stood back, shifting Atem down to stand on the floor, and knelt to be at eyelevel, placing his hands on Atem's shoulders. "I am, Atem. I am very proud of you . . . and I love you. Very much. Never forget that. I love you, my son."

Atem felt the tears come to his eyes for the countless time today, and this time he didn't mind them at all as he threw his arms around his father once more. "Me too, Father. I love you too. Always."

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Author's Note: Please be sure to check my bio page for any updates, etc. Thanks!


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